At this moment, within the desolate forest that had suddenly emerged in Hueco Mundo, Makoto and Aizen's gazes finally met in the truest sense.
A gaze both familiar and unfamiliar.
Unlike the Aizen that Makoto had known before—the one who always exuded a gentle and sincere demeanor, whose eyes seemed perpetually warm and inviting—this Aizen was different.
Arrogant, confident, indifferent, looking down upon all as if from a great height…
Though his appearance had not changed in the slightest, his very essence seemed to have undergone an earth-shattering transformation.
At the same time, as Aizen looked upon the Vasto Lorde before him, who called himself Asura Gensei, an eerie sense of familiarity crept over him.
Unfamiliar in appearance and presence, yet familiar in the fleeting flickers of emotion that occasionally flashed through those otherwise calm and detached eyes.
'Could it be…?'
A conjecture instinctively surfaced in Aizen's mind, but no matter how he analyzed the situation, every observable fact pointed to one truth—Makoto exhibited all the defining characteristics of a Vasto Lorde.
Even the unique spiritual pressure fluctuations that signified the nature of different spiritual beings had completely changed. Gone was the signature pressure of a Shinigami; in its place was the unmistakable aura of a Hollow, one befitting a Vasto Lorde.
Yet despite Aizen's scrutinizing gaze, Makoto's expression remained utterly composed.
His only movement was the gentle stroke of his palm atop Grimmjow's panther-like head. The sheer indifference and arrogance in this simple gesture made Aizen feel an uncharacteristic sense of unfamiliarity.
After all, Makoto had already completed extensive research on Tier Harribel—a Vasto Lorde in her own right.
With sufficient data at his disposal, and considering his ability to perfectly craft new spiritual entities, altering his own spiritual signature to mimic that of a Vasto Lorde posed no challenge whatsoever.
In a way, it was akin to the principle of energy conservation. Makoto couldn't erase his own spiritual pressure entirely, but converting it into the characteristics of a Vasto Lorde's spiritual pressure was effortless.
His only flaw?
The fact that Grimmjow had personally witnessed "Nnoitra running straight into Makoto's blade and committing suicide," thereby confirming that Makoto's Zanpakutō was indeed a Shinigami's weapon.
Thus, Makoto's hand continued to idly stroke Grimmjow's head—a silent precaution. If necessary, he could ensure that Grimmjow remained silent at the crucial moment.
To Grimmjow, a proud Adjuchas in the form of a white panther, this act was nothing short of humiliating. His instincts rejected such a demeaning display.
But under the crushing weight of Makoto's immense spiritual pressure, he had no choice but to reluctantly accept.
After a few more strokes, Grimmjow's eyes widened slightly, as if he had just discovered an entirely new world.
'Wait… this… actually feels… good…?'
A moment later, his expression stiffened. His head tilted up ever so slightly, subtly adjusting for a more comfortable position under Makoto's hand, all while fiercely convincing himself:
'No! I'm being forced into this! I'm not enjoying it!'
Of course, in the presence of the two kings who currently occupied this barren forest, Grimmjow's little dilemma was utterly insignificant.
As Aizen remained silent, Makoto's mind raced through various possibilities, but his voice remained calm when he finally spoke.
"You have no response? Was your only reason for coming to Hueco Mundo… war?"
The subtle implication within his words carried a deliberate provocation, stirring a ripple of hostility among the surrounding Hollows.
Shinigami… were never welcome in Hueco Mundo.
"War?"
Aizen adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping across the assembled Hollows before him. Slowly, he spread his arms wide, as if embracing something unseen, and said:
"Everyone… I love war."
"Tell me, do you not think that the Soul Society has sat atop its high throne for far too long?"
"They dictate everything as they see fit, branding the natural instincts of Hollows—self-preservation and evolution—as evil, all while enforcing their so-called 'purification' through merciless slaughter."
"They are too arrogant. Far too arrogant. And though I am a Shinigami, even I cannot stand the sheer hypocrisy of their laws."
"Compared to the endless slaughter Shinigami commit in the name of their so-called justice, are Hollows truly the greater evil? Is consuming souls for the sake of survival really worse than the indiscriminate purging they carry out?"
Each carefully crafted word dripped with seduction, seeping into the minds of the Hollows present.
Though Gillians lacked the capacity for independent thought, the true warriors of Hueco Mundo—the Adjuchas—possessed intelligence and self-awareness. And Aizen's speech struck a chord deep within them, igniting a fire of discontent.
For them, his words resonated with something undeniable.
Only Makoto remained unmoved.
He saw it for what it was—a blatant manipulation, a distortion of logic designed to deceive those too ignorant to see through it.
Aizen's argument was riddled with flaws. He was twisting the narrative, using a Hollow's perspective to redefine justice itself, drawing a false equivalence between maintaining order and fulfilling primal urges.
"Thus, my friends… I love war."
"Only through war can we reshape the balance between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. Only through war can we rewrite their arrogant decree that 'Hollows are evil from the moment of their creation.'"
"But this is not something one Shinigami alone can accomplish. Only by uniting—by wielding the strength of every Hollow—can we truly bring change."
"Everyone, I will become your king, leading you to revel in war and seize victory!"
As Aizen's final words echoed across the barren forest, his voice carried an unmistakable dominance—as if he was merely stating a foregone conclusion.
His spiritual pressure surged outward, an oppressive force that made the surrounding Hollows instinctively struggle to breathe. Their very bodies recoiled, compelled to submit before his overwhelming presence.
But beyond his sheer power, what truly set Aizen apart from the so-called "King of Hueco Mundo," Baraggan Louisenbairn, was something else.
Spiritual pressure alone was not enough to rule.
Aizen possessed charisma—a force of will that transcended raw strength. Compared to Baraggan, he was in an entirely different league.
Yet despite the growing tide of submission, a single presence loomed in silent defiance.
Seated upon the withered throne of the dead forest, another force—terrifying in its own right—remained unmoved.
The Hollows hesitated.
For even as Aizen spoke of war, a far greater enigma sat in silence, exuding a spiritual pressure so vast that none dared to look directly upon him.
Makoto had yet to speak.
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